


Ten Times Trouble

by Wilusa



Series: Later Imaginings [1]
Category: Carnivale
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-11
Updated: 2011-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilusa/pseuds/Wilusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 1 reprises the battle in the cornfield, to provide some interpretation; Chs. 2 and 3 continue the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Carnivale and its canon characters are the property of HBO and the show's producers; no copyright infringement is intended.

_"You remember Hack Scudder. Prob'ly better'n anyone else. He was trouble. I like the kid, I do..._ _ **Ten times trouble**_ _."_ \- Samson to Ruthie in "Day of the Dead."

x

x

x

Tears stung Ben Hawkins' eyes as he fled through the cornfield - scene of a hundred hellish nightmares, now brutally real.

 _Was it always supposed to end this way? Was I always meant to die in this damn cornfield?_

 _No_ , he thought wretchedly, _I screwed up. Too young, too dumb to get things right..._

 _Did Belyakov mean that the **only** way I could kill the Usher was with my dagger? Why the hell didn't he say that, in plain English? Him an' his symbols - for all I know, he coulda meant literally that I should stick the dagger in the goddamn tree!_

 _Shit. Don't blame Belyakov. It warn't his fault. He just passed on to me what someone else had shown him. He may not o' been sure what it meant himself._

Ben understood why he'd wanted to believe in Samson's plan. It had always struck him as wrong that an Avatar of Light should be required to kill. If the plan had worked as Samson envisioned it, it would have enabled him to defeat his enemy without taking direct action to kill him. The man would have died, but Ben would have overcome his evil through the performance of good works. As a bonus, there would have been no revenge against the carnival. All its people would have gotten out of New Canaan safely.

Ben had never wanted to endanger the carnies. He'd let Jonesy go back for the others as a means of getting his friend out of harm's way. He'd meant to assassinate Brother Justin while Jonesy was gone, willingly sacrificing his own life. But he'd missed him at the house; the baptismal service had been halted when a body floated to the surface of the pond; and Jonesy himself had returned to thwart his third attempt.

When he embraced Samson's plan, he'd had another thought in the back of his mind: that if the energy-drain _didn't_ kill Justin, it would at least leave him unconscious. "Healer" Benjamin St. John could "go to his aid" - and finish him off with the dagger. That would have led to reprisals, but the main objective would have been accomplished.

 _It woulda worked, for sure...if Justin didn't have the strength of a Prophet._

 _ **If I hadn't failed to save my father**_.

Now, the eerie flashes of lightning over the cornfield showed him not a glimmer of hope.

On seeing the fate of the heroic Rev. Balthus, he'd raced out of the healing tent - to draw Justin out of it, put an end to the slaughter of innocents. He'd plunged into the cornfield because it provided some measure of cover, if he kept his head down. But now what?

 _Should I try to escape, live to fight another day?_

 _Can't risk it. Even if his people turn against him, there's no tellin' how powerful he is. He's got one hostage now - if he can't find me, he may hold the whole carnival hostage._

He allowed himself to think, briefly, of the one who was already in Justin's clutches. Sofie.

He cared for Sofie - but only, he told himself, as a member of the Carnivale family. A woman, less able to defend herself than a man in the same position...

 _No, damn it. It's more than that._

When he first joined the carnival, his attraction to Ruthie had led to what he still thought was love. On both sides. But that in turn had led Lodz - and, yes, the supposed Christ-figure Belyakov - to make cruel use of her, in order to force him to use his powers. He'd pulled away from her after that, and vowed that no one else would suffer because of him.

Later, he'd felt a sense of responsibility toward Sofie. After he found her wandering in a state of shock and brought her back to the carnival, she began turning to him for support. He convinced himself that was harmless, because they were just friends. And she made him feel a little less lonely.

All well and good...until what happened on the road to Damascus. He was antsy about the delay. When Sofie insisted on sitting in his truck, he felt obliged to stay with her - whatever they both said to the contrary. His restlessness prompted him to suggest they get out of the truck and dance. Close dancing led to another kind of closeness.

Ben couldn't remember whether he'd ever let himself dream of some kind of "future." Not recently, that was for sure. He'd never had a "life" to speak of. By now he was narrowly focused on doing what he'd apparently been put on earth to do, and then being allowed to lay down the burden. The End.

And so, not thinking beyond the moment, he'd had sex with a woman he didn't love. Unprotected sex, with a _young_ woman. He'd regretted it before the night was over.

 _Sofie ain't in love with me neither, or she wouldn't have left. So I didn't hurt her by makin' her think there was more between us than there was. But now Justin's not only got a hostage, he's got one who could be carryin' my child. If she is, an' he has a way o' knowin' it, that puts her in even worse danger._

He moaned in frustration. _I'm gonna die here. I can accept that. Never expected to survive. But Justin's a monster, an' I don't see no way to take him with me!_

Whether or not his dagger was the only weapon that could kill the Usher, it was the only one he had. But to use it, he'd have to get close to his enemy. And Justin was wielding a scythe that could be used for slashing, at more than arm's length.

 _Slashin'...or worse_ , Ben thought with a shudder. _It's prob'ly what he used to behead my pa._

x

x

x

Sickened as he was by that realization, he paused in his flight, hunkered down amid the corn.

For the first time, he allowed himself a few deep breaths.

And truly _listened._

Silence.

 _Okay. Bad as things look, I ain't givin' up without a fight._

 _He's here somewhere. Both of us keepin' still now, so's not to give away where we are. But I'm thinner than he is. Maybe if I try, if I take it slow, I can move along these rows without makin' no sound. Sneak up on him, take him by surprise._

Grimly, he drew the dagger from its sheath on his ankle. Rose cautiously to his feet, turned slightly -

And his gloating enemy rose in the next row, directly in front of him! The scythe shot out, slashing Ben's left arm.

He turned and ran, faster than he'd ever run in his life. But he heard himself crashing through the corn - and the only sound that was louder was his pursuer's demonic laughter.

The dagger had been in his right hand; he hadn't been startled into dropping it. But that was small consolation. His wound might not be serious, but it was painful. He was too distracted to perform a quick self-healing. And he knew he was leaving a trail of blue Prophet's blood, visible in the moonlight even in the absence of lightning flashes.

Running desperately, with his head down, he stopped just short of crashing into...something. When he drew back to take a look at it, he realized it was a scarecrow. Complete with a man's broad-brimmed hat, and mounted on a rough wooden cross.

He started to ease around it - taking care not to disturb the cans hanging nearby, meant to serve as another deterrent to crows when the wind set them jouncing and jangling. But then he looked up at the cross again. And suddenly, he found himself remembering something Samson had said earlier that day.

"You think the Lord had to die to make his point? What if when they said, 'Come on down from that cross,' ol' Jesus just come on down an' spit right in their eye?"

 _Sorry, Samson, I still don't think that woulda worked for Jesus. But it may work for me!_

By the time Justin came barreling down the row, Ben had taken the scarecrow's place on the cross, with the hat obscuring most of his face. Justin had his own head down; he was bending to look at the corn as he walked. He went right past Ben in the dim light - belatedly recognizing the "scarecrow" as what it apparently was, ducking most of the cans, but not caring that he stirred some of them enough to announce his presence. He, of course, had no fear of the wounded prey he was stalking.

A few steps farther on, he stopped.

Sneaking a look over his shoulder, Ben thought, _This is it. He's caught on that he ain't seein' no more o' my blood on the cornstalks. He'll turn an' come back this way, standin' up straight an' lookin' around, thinkin' to spot me in another row._

 _An' I'll drop down on him. Not on his back, like I woulda had to do if I caught him as he passed. I want to take him from the front, get that tattooed chest he's showin' with no layers o' clothes over it._

For the second time that night, the Usher walked into a trap.

Ben pounced on him, exactly as he'd planned. Gripping the dagger in his strong right hand, he drove it at his enemy's chest.

And the dagger broke!

 _What the hell -? His skin is like armor!_

The blade of the dagger - most of it - skittered off to Ben's left. He had time to see there was no blue blood on it; the skin hadn't been pierced at all. Then Justin flung Ben off him - and slashed him deeply, viciously, in the left side of his lower abdomen.

Ben landed hard, on his back. He was still conscious. But he knew the battle was over. This time, he'd taken a mortal wound.

 _I screwed up. Too young, too dumb to get things right..._

His enemy bent over him. Eyes that glowed, despite being black as pitch...chest that rose and fell regularly, despite being festooned with the image of a dead tree.

"Look at you, boy. Such a sad mess."

 _I don't need you to tell me that, you sumbitch..._

Lifting Ben's head to get a better look, the Usher said regretfully, "So young..."

Ben loathed the patronizing attitude. But his inner voice was saying, _He's right. I am a "sad mess" - a total failure. I wasn't a worthy foe for him, didn't make him break a sweat._

He knew he was slipping into death. At this point, he wasn't even trying to stop the slide.

 _He knows it too. An' it was me he wanted. Will he be content with my death, free his hostage?_

He managed to say, "Sofie -"

Justin replied unctuously, "She's waiting for you."

And Ben's anger flared up. _He's already killed her? The heartless bastard!_

That thought triggered another. Suddenly, he heard Belyakov's voice intoning, "A dark heart dwells where branches meet..."

 _Was that the part I was supposed to take literally? "Where branches meet"...in the **tattoo?**_

Justin evidently wasn't planning to wait out the few minutes Ben thought he might have left. As he was saying, "I'll be quick. You will not suffer," Ben's eyes frantically sought the blade of his dagger. He saw it - within reach, if he had sufficient strength in his wounded arm. But there was no _time_...

And then Justin stopped to gaze up at the heavens, proclaiming, "My kingdom come!"

Ben grabbed the blade in his left hand, and lunged at the man who'd been about to kill him. This time, what remained of the dagger found the vulnerable spot in that tattooed chest. Justin let out an agonized cry as he staggered backward and then fell, the blade still in him.

Ben fell backward too. He clung to consciousness. But his head was swimming, and the pain in his belly was so excruciating that only weakness kept him from screaming.

Since he wasn't screaming, he was able to hear Justin's gasps.

 _Can't stop now. He's still alive. Gotta...hang on long enough...to finish him...or it will all be...for nothin'!_

He forced himself up to a sitting position, just as a flash of lightning illuminated the lurid scene - and let him see how much blood he'd lost.

He shuddered. _Okay. I know where Justin is. A few feet away. Last journey o' my life, an' it's gonna seem like the longest. But I gotta get there. He ain't in good enough shape to fight me now, but I can't assume he won't snap back later. Can't die in peace till I'm sure_ _ **he's**_ _dead._

The journey was as arduous as he'd expected. But he made it.

Justin's chest was still heaving.

Ben maneuvered himself into the right position, placed both hands over the protruding blade, and pressed down with all his strength.

"Plunge...thee...deep!"

The deed was done.

The tattooed chest was motionless.

And as Ben heard a shockingly loud peal of thunder, he knew he was about to fall dead over a dead body.


	2. Chapter 2

Or not.

 _Wh-what's goin' on? I'm dead, ain't I?_

 _Omigod, am I in Hell?_

Wherever Ben was, it seemed to be a universe made up entirely of pain...and jostling that made the pain worse...and worst of all, pressure on his throat. Pressure that was cutting off his supply of the air he'd thought a dead man wouldn't need.

 _Hell?_ _Was Justin able to drag me down with him? An eternity o' torture..._

He fought, illogically, to breathe. And his muddled brain somehow recognized the illogic. His thought processes were slow, as labored as his breathing; but he sensed they were taking him in the right direction.

 _I ain't dead._

 _Not quite._

 _I'm hurt bad, an'..._

 _An'..._

 _An' someone's tryin' to finish me off._

 _Someone's chokin' me..._

 _Killin' me._

He didn't really care. He was too exhausted, in too much pain, to care. Hadn't he expected, all along, to be killed after he took out the Usher?

He just couldn't suppress the reflex that kept him struggling to breathe. Prolonging his agony.

His mind served up more explanations of what was probably happening.

 _The jostlin'...I'm in some kind o' movin' vehicle. Layin' on my back._

 _Justin's men...found me...tossed me in a cart..._

 _If they were gonna kill me, why didn't they do it before they put me in the cart?_

 _Oh! They thought I was dead! Someone just noticed I wasn't._

Ridiculously, under the circumstances, he felt a surge of pride at having figured that out.

Coming closer to full consciousness, he succeeded in opening his eyes. But the shock of the strangulation was making them water, and he saw only a blur before the lids dropped shut again.

 _What's takin' this guy so long? It ain't decent!_ He tried to struggle, but found himself too weak to manage anything more than a feeble flapping of his hands. At his sides - he couldn't lift his arms.

He knew his sense of the passage of time was probably distorted. But even so, he believed he was right in thinking the person choking him wasn't very strong. If he'd had even a fraction of his normal strength, he could have fought him off.

 _Dammit, this ain't a dignified way to die..._

But at last, he _was_ dying. He was seeing stars...consciousness fading again, yet he felt his back arch as his body fought to live...

And then a thought struck him, crashing into his mind like a tidal wave.

 _Someone who ain't very strong...my God, what if it's **Justin?** They put us both in the damn cart, neither _   
_of us was quite dead - an' he's still weak, but he's come back enough to have another chance to win?_

 _It can't be. It can't!_

He forced his eyes open again, blinking frantically to clear them. He _had to_ see his killer!

The face came into focus.

And even as he heard the death rattle in his throat, Ben tried to scream.

He fought desperately, ignoring his pain, calling up the last iota of a Prophet's strength to cling to consciousness, to writhe and kick and claw at his attacker. _No, no,_ _ **nooo!**_ _I mustn't die this way! Please, God, anythin' but this._ _ **Anythin' but this!**_

Real tears were blinding him now. The hands tightened on his throat, and he knew his struggles were of no avail.

He knew, too, that he could save himself by saying one word. A single word! But he couldn't force out even a squawk.

And then...the moving vehicle stopped.

Not a normal stop, but the jolting stop that occurs when brakes are slammed on by a driver reacting to an emergency. Ben's attacker involuntarily let go of him. Ben was wracked by spasms of pain - but he gulped in a breath, then deliberately rolled off what he now knew was a bed.

Hitting the floor gave him a new introduction to what pain _really_ was. But it bought him the extra moments he needed, as the would-be killer lunged for him. He gathered his strength, and somehow made his raw throat produce that all-important word.

"Ruthie!"

x

x

x

His attacker paused. Faltered. Fingers inches from his throat...

And then the silvery film over her eyes dissolved, and it was Ruthie's own brown eyes that blinked once - then widened in horror. She let out a shriek. "Ben? _Ben!_ Oh my God, what did I do? _What did I do?_ I hurt you worse than you were hurt before -"

" 'S all right..." Ben didn't know which of them was trembling more violently. But he could see that the woman kneeling beside him was on the verge of hysteria, so he kept whispering in his raspy voice, trying to calm her. "I'll be okay. I know it warn't you, it was Lodz."

 _Had to be Lodz, but how could it be?_

He heard men's voices. They were yelling at each other, somewhere outside the trailer...whichever trailer it was.

 _What the hell's goin' on? Glad they're makin' enough noise that no one noticed Ruthie screamin'. But I can't let myself pass out now, I can't._

Ruthie was shaking her head. "My fault, my fault." Between sobs, she choked out, "Lodz has been doin' things to me...I knew that...but I thought he could only get at me when I was asleep. I never woulda volunteered to sit here with you if I thought there was any danger. An' I didn't fall asleep, I didn't! He took me while I was awake!" With that, she broke down completely.

Ben was stunned. _Lodz has been "doin' things"?_ _ **Possessin' her?**_ _Shit, that ain't her fault, it's mine! It's gotta have somethin' to do with my exchangin' Lodz's life for hers._

While he was trying to absorb that revelation, he realized he was lying in a spreading pool of blood. "Ruthie? I think...I'm bleedin'..."

She pulled herself together, looked at him, and gasped. "Your wound has opened again!"

She leapt to her feet and he lost sight of her. Too weak to lift his head, he panicked. _Ruthie? Where are you? Don't leave me...I was lyin' about bein' okay, I'm gonna bleed to death..._

 _Ruthie?_

 _Oh God, was she scared away by the sight o' that creepy blue blood? I want her with me!_

Then he heard her voice, which still sounded anguished. "Just lie still an' rest. I'm gettin' more first aid supplies."

She apparently only had to go a few steps to get them; she was back in seconds. But badly as he needed help, when she dropped to her knees, he found himself whispering, "D-don't touch me..."

She drew back, with a stricken look on her face. "I understand," she said meekly. "I'll get someone else."

"No! You _don't_ understand. Lemme think for a second."

He'd acquired so much information in recent weeks - from his boon, and from Belyakov's books - that he couldn't keep it all straight. Especially in his current weakened state.

 _Will she be in danger if we touch? Can my self-healin' cut in an' draw on her for life-force if I don't want it to?_

 _Didn't happen when she was chokin' me. But in a way, that was Lodz, an' he's already dead._

 _Plenty o' people musta touched me, just to get me back to the carnival. But I was unconscious then. I don't think self-healin' can start when an Avatar's unconscious..._

 _Wait. Belyakov was **always** in need o' healin'. But he was able to touch me to give me a vision. An' Scudder - he touched him without takin' life-force or doin' any self-healin'._

 _We were Avatars. But he musta touched Lodz too, when he restored his vision!_

 _So it's safe._

He looked up at the white-faced Ruthie and whispered, "Okay. Help me...please?"

x

x

x

He closed his eyes and tried to relax while she put pressure on the abdominal wound, brought the bleeding under control - somehow - and applied a fresh bandage. But he couldn't stop trembling. _If this ain't killed me yet, does it mean it ain't goin' to? I know Prophets are hard to kill. But...will the damn thing ever_ _ **heal**_ _, without use o' my powers?_

"Ruthie?" he whispered.

"Yeah? I'm here." Her voice was steady now, as were her hands.

"Why didn't I die in that cornfield? Shoulda bled to death then..."

"You passed out, face down, on top o' the preacher's body, remember? You'd lost a lot o' blood before that. But it didn't get any worse, 'cause you were pressed against him an' that just about stopped the bleedin'." She made a derisive sound. "In a way, he saved your life."

"Oh." He tried to smile. "Ruthie?"

"Yeah?"

"There's somethin' I gotta tell you. About Lodz..."

She said calmly, "You killed him?"

His eyes flew open. "Yeah. But how did you -"

"Lila's been tellin' people that. God knows how _she_ knew. But I suspected it all along. The snake that bit me was in a bag o' clothes Lila mended for me. I was sure Lodz was behind it, an' I thought you mighta figured it out too.

"Besides, the next time I saw you, you'd got a different shirt, after bein' stuck with the same one for months. I guessed you'd scrapped the old one 'cause it had blood on it."

Ben thought that over. "You were right. But there's more to it." _Like the fact that I_ _ **strangled**_ _him._ "I gotta tell you..." But he was worn out. He mumbled, "When I'm stronger, okay?"

"O' course. But don't feel you have to." Then she said tentatively, "I've done all I can with the bandagin'. Do you think that if I help you, you can get back up on the bed? You'd be more comfortable -"

He knew he couldn't do it. "Uh, I just wanna lay here an' rest a while." He was sure now that "here" was the floor of Belyakov's old cubby in the Management trailer. And Samson wasn't around because he always rode in the lead truck with Jonesy. "Any idea why we're stopped? What the problem is?" The agitated voices outside hadn't died down.

"Jesus. I've been so worried about you that it never occurred to me we should be movin'." Ruthie still sounded so anxious that he felt guilty about staying on the floor. "One o' the vehicles musta hit another," she guessed. "No big deal. Can I get you anythin', Ben?"

"Water, please?" He couldn't remember ever having been so thirsty.

"Why didn't I think o' that? 'Course you need fluids, after losin' all that blood. Right away!"

She knelt beside him again to give him the water, and carefully lifted his head. He suppressed a shudder as he thought of Justin doing the same thing, with very different intent.

 _Don't dwell on that. It's over._

 _Unless Justin had an evil son that I don't know about, I'm the only Avatar still alive. Does that mean the war's over, at least for me? To be carried on by Creatures o' Light an' Darkness who ain't even been born yet?_

 _I was a fool. I thought I could protect Ruthie by stayin' away from her, an' all I did was "protect" **myself** from learnin' that an enemy was hurtin' her. Almost got myself killed, an' left her with a memory that coulda drove her as crazy as my grandma._

 _Now that I know what's goin' on, I can deal with Lodz. My mistake was stayin' away from Ruthie. The real danger is over. At the cost, maybe, o' my health bein' shot, but..._

As she took the cup away from his lips and gently laid his head down, he looked up at her and whispered, "Ruthie..."

Their eyes met.

He saw hers widen, disbelief giving way to wonderment and then, slowly, to ecstasy, as she realized he wanted exactly what she did.

She dropped down beside him, and they shared a long, tender kiss.

They were still kissing when the trailer door burst open. A familiar voice yelled, "Ruthie!" And then, in astonishment, "What the hell's goin' on here?"


	3. Chapter 3

Ruthie sat up abruptly. "Samson, there's somethin' I shoulda told you. I did tell you a while back that I'd been seein' dead people -"

"Yeah, yeah." The waist-high (on most people) door to the Management apartment had been standing open; the carny boss shut the outer door behind him, and hurried in for a closer look at Ben. "What's that got to do with Hawkins bein' on the floor, an' blood all over?"

"Lodz tried to strangle Ben. He took possession o' me. An' Ben's wound reopened when he rolled off the bed."

Samson let out an oath. Then he asked sharply, "How'd you know it was Lodz, an' not someone else?"

Ben decided he'd better speak up, weak as he was, to prevent the story's becoming unnecessarily long. "His eyes. I came to when someone was chokin' me, an' I could see it was Lodz's eyes in Ruthie's face."

"Christ. Like we ain't got enough on our plate." Samson gave the new bandage a once-over, and nodded in acknowledgment of Ruthie's having done a good job. "Are you gonna be okay, Hawkins?"

"Yeah." _Maybe. Eventually._ "I'm jus' weak right now."

"Well, I need to talk to you anyway." Samson didn't sound particularly sympathetic. "Glad you're finally conscious. But first we gotta get you back on that bed."

"No, please..."

But Samson, unlike Ruthie, wasn't willing to take no for an answer. "Can't have you layin' in all that blood. There ain't none on the bed, an' we can cut some o' your bloody shirt off. C'mon, Ruthie!"

To Ben's amazement, the two of them managed to lift him onto the bed without intensifying the throbbing pain of his wound. Samson, who had to be under four feet tall, proved remarkably strong for his size.

The bed wasn't much more comfortable than the floor, but Ben remembered his manners and said, "Thank you. An' thank you, Samson, for gettin' me outta New Canaan."

"Forget about that. Sit down, Ruthie." Samson gestured to her to take the one chair in the Management cubby, then went outside and brought in his own suitably-sized desk chair. He plunked himself down at Ben's bedside - Ruthie, from necessity, moving her own chair farther away.

Samson demanded, "Tell me what happened back there, Hawkins."

"What...happened?" _Don't you know?_ "I killed Brother Justin, like I was supposed to..." And then Ben winced, as he remembered the part Samson might _not_ know. "But Sofie's dead. At least, when Justin thought he was gonna be able to kill me, he told me she was 'waitin' for me.' Meanin' she was already dead. He didn't have no reason to lie about it."

Samson was frowning. "He told you Sofie was dead. What did you do then?"

" 'Do'?" Ben couldn't understand the grilling. "I got the drop on him an' killed him!" _Why do you look as if you don't believe me?_ "Ruthie said I didn't bleed to death 'cause I was layin' on top o' him, so at least some o' the carnies musta seen his body."

"That's right," Ruthie chimed in. "Samson, you were there. You saw Justin's body. An' it was clear Ben had been unconscious since the fight. If you're thinkin' he shoulda done more to try to find Sofie or Jonesy -"

 _"Jonesy?"_ Ben somehow got his head up, and struggled to raise himself on his uninjured right elbow so he could look at her. "Somethin's happened to Jonesy?"

"We lost both Sofie an' Jonesy," Samson said grimly. "Didn't find bodies - but Jonesy had gone missin', an' we had to leave without him. Iris Crowe wanted the carnival to be on its way before anyone called the cops. She had the only phone, but after the things people had seen, she couldn't stall much beyond daybreak. Did you send Jonesy somewhere?"

"No! I ain't seen him since he went to put the Crowes on Colossus!"

"Then he musta gone off on his own, tryin' to rescue Sofie. Which means he's likely as dead as she is."

"Damn!" Ben fell back on the bed - and couldn't stop tears from coming.

 _Why do I feel worse about Jonesy than about Sofie? That ain't right!_

 _Yeah, it is. Sofie was there 'cause she'd fallen for Justin's line, joined up with his followers of her own free will. I woulda risked my life to save her, but the fact is, she'd made her own bed._

 _Jonesy was different. He was only there 'cause o' me, helpin' with a job that was rightly mine._

 _An' I'd saved his life just a few days ago. There was no way I coulda passed him an' Libby by. But stoppin' to help them kept me from savin' my **father** , for Christ's sake! An' it was all for nothin'? Jonesy's dead anyway, killed tryin' an' failin'_   
_to save someone else?_

"I'm sorry, Samson," he murmured.

"Sorry ain't gonna cut it. What else did you do back there?"

"What else? Nothin'!" By now he was exasperated. "How could I have fitted in anythin' else? You saw me run outta the healin' tent an' into the cornfield. I fought Justin in that cornfield, an' you know I was still out cold when you found me."

"Yeah," Samson said harshly. "But I also know you got scary powers. Maybe even when you seem to be out cold. Why do you think we're stopped right now?"

"I dunno. Should I?"

"Maybe. Osgood an' me had the radio on in the lead truck, an' when we heard the news, Osgood slammed the brake on so hard that half the vehicles in the convoy rammed into others. Can't say I blame him.

"Remember, Hawkins, what _you said_ about the possibility o' Sofie bein' dead?"

Confused, Ben thought for a few seconds. _Jeez, my head aches._ Then he confessed, "No, I don't."

Samson gave a disbelieving snort. "It went somethin' like this. 'If she's dead, then God help them all in this valley. Every single last one o' them.' " His eyes met Ben's and held them. "You wanna know what we heard on the news?" His voice was rising with every word. "After we left, all Justin's followers in that valley collapsed an' died! Seventeen thousand people, you bastard!"

Ben only half heard Ruthie's gasp. Up on his elbow again, he echoed, "Seventeen thousand people? Collapsed an' died? That's impossible!"

"Is it? Did you - what's the word from the Bible? Did you _smite_ them, somehow?"

"No!" Ben yelled, horrified. "I don't know how to 'smite' no one. I was _unconscious_ , dammit!"

"You know who's babblin' to the newshounds about it? _Justin!_ Your goddamn Usher, alive an' well!"

Ben fell back on the bed, closing his eyes in an attempt at escape. _This ain't real. I'm unconscious_ _ **now**_ _, that's it! Havin' a nightmare._

But he couldn't shut out Samson's voice. "Look at me, you freak!"

Ruthie protested, "Leave him alone, Samson! You wanna kill him? Can't you see he was as shocked as you?"

Reluctantly, Ben opened his eyes.

"Justin's dead," he insisted. "You both saw his body, right? How can he be talkin' to reporters?"

Samson said bitterly, "He _was_ dead, but he sure ain't now. An' he ain't admittin' he ever was dead - if he even knows it.

"Guess what he's tellin' them reporters? He's been screamin' an' carryin' on, claimin' his flock was murdered by the Antichrist. A healer name o' Benjamin St. John, who's travelin' with a carnival!"

 _"No!"_ That horrified denial came from Ben and Ruthie simultaneously.

"Yes! He says you vowed revenge after he denounced your powers as comin' from the devil."

"You know that ain't true, Samson." By now Ben had managed to sit up. Ruthie came to sit beside him on the bed, and slipped a protective arm around him.

"Not like he's tellin' it, o' course not," Samson acknowledged. "But I also know you threatened to do somethin' to all them people if Sofie was dead."

"Whatever I said, it was just talk! I don't even remember it!"

 _But...is there any possibility...any chance at all...that my just **sayin'** it coulda made it so? My God..._

"There's no way I woulda restored Justin to life," he argued. "The whole point o' goin' there was to kill him."

 _Am I tryin' to convince Samson, or myself?_

"Justin's supposed to represent Evil, right?" Samson was glowering at him. "Seems to me your sinnin' big time - killin' seventeen thousand people - coulda strengthened the power of Evil in the world, an' brought him back."

"No! I didn't kill no seventeen thousand people. This is insane. I killed _Justin_ , dammit, no one else!"

But the doubt had been planted in his mind, and his denial sounded false, even to him.

"The cops are gonna be after us," Samson pointed out. "No one can prove how them people died. I could just deny the whole thing, since we ain't been advertisin' no healer.

"But I dunno how we can explain you bein' here, wounded, an' havin' this damn blue blood. We may have time to clean up the mess we got now, but what if more of it comes out on the bandage while they're lookin' at you?"

Thinking aloud, Ben said, "I can keep them from seein' me. If they come in the trailer, I can make 'em look at this section of it an' just see a wall. An' the wall will seem to be in the right place, so the size o' the inside o' the rig will match the outside."

Then he realized both Samson and Ruthie were staring at him. Even Ruthie seemed frightened by his new acceptance of his powers; she edged away from him.

 _Freak_ , he told himself. _Samson was right...that's what I am now, a goddamn freak._

 _An' maybe a mass murderer?_

Suddenly, someone pounded on the trailer door. "Samson! You in there?"

"Osgood?" Samson yelled. "Yeah, c'mon in."

The young roustie let himself in - looking scared. He left the trailer door open, as if preparing to bolt. After he spotted Ben he never took his eyes off him, even though he seemed to be addressing Samson.

"You'll never believe this. Seein' as we're stopped, Bert went pokin' in the last truck in the convoy, lookin' for some o' his an' Sabina's stuff. An' guess who he found, passed out in the back o' the truck? Sofie!"

 _"What?"_ came from three throats at once. Samson and Ruthie sprang to their feet.

"She's okay," Osgood said quickly. "She came to when Bert shook her. Says she ran an' caught the last truck as we were leavin', passed out from exhaustion before she could let the driver know she was there."

Ben felt ill.

 _I don't believe I killed all them people. I don't!_

 _But **if** I killed them..._

 _My God. Did I kill seventeen thousand people, an' restore Justin to life, for Sofie's sake, when she **ain't even dead?**_

Osgood shifted uncomfortably. "But she says Jonesy really is dead. He rescued her, but that bald-headed guy – Stroud? - was shootin' at them, an' Jonesy was killed."

Samson dropped back into his chair, muttering, "Damn."

Ben buried his face in his hands.

And then, through the open door, they heard a blood-curdling scream.

Ruthie started for the door. "Oh my God -"

"Sit down, Ruthie," Samson said bleakly. "You ain't needed. The right people are there."

"Who -? What -?"

The carny boss looked up, gray-faced. "The nearest car is the Dreifusses'," he explained.

"Sounds like Libby just got the bad news."

x

x

x

The End


End file.
